if we were trees

if we were trees

we’d grow in each other’s arms

we’d be each other’s shade

and we’d be each other’s shelter

if we were trees

our roots would be intertwined

and if you got sick

i’d send you the right chemicals to make you better

and if i broke a branch

you’d mend me

but most importantly

if we were trees

we’d have longer than the never promise, but always hopeful, 60 years together

we’d grow side by side for lifetimes

thousands of years

and when our time was up

we’d fall back to the earth that tended us

tended each other

and we’d begin all over again

as seeds

if we were trees.

to be caught

“I’m coming home”
Tears draining bloodshot eyes

Plane tickets
And a pandemic

Picked up from the airport
And sleeping in the back seat

Long hugs
And “I’m glad you’re back”

Dad’s coffee
And your teenage bedroom

The North Sea
And 4pm sunsets

Clean breaks
With soft landings

Oh how sweet it is
To be caught.

contradictions

I have OCD. I do not wash my hands religiously after using the bathroom. But I do live with a constant feeling of impending doom, like a black cloud is following me wherever I go.

I have OCD. I don’t keep my flat especially tidy, and I’ve never cared for dusting. But I do frequently and vividly picture my family’s deaths to the point of tears.

I have OCD. I don’t turn the lights on again and off again. But I do count almost every action I take, and make sure it’s in 3s, 4s or 7s.

I have OCD. I can drink out of glasses at any restaurant without a second thought. But I question my sexuality almost constantly, to check I haven’t been lying to myself and everyone I love.

I have OCD.

And I do over-use alcohol hand gel. And I do line my shoes up in a funny way else something terrible will happen. And I avoid new car journeys for fear of causing a crash and hurting or killing the people I love. And I do actually knock on wood. And I salute to every magpie I see. And I do neutralize “bad” thoughts or words with “good” ones.

The “ands” and “buts” can also be true at the same time.

We are walking contradictions.
We are stereotypical and we are opposites.
We both are and are not.
And all those experiences are valid.
But it’s okay.

have you lost weight?

“Wow, have you lost weight?”

Not –
“Tell me about your family, are they well?”
“What about a childhood dream you had, did it ever come true?”
“What has brought you joy recently, and how can you look for that joy in unexpected places?”
“Are you a beach or a mountain person?”
“What scares you more – space or the deep sea?”
“In what ways do you think you’ve grown up, and it what ways haven’t you?”
“Do you believe in ‘the one’?”
“How are you, really?”
“What book has made you cry recently?”
“What is your best piece of life advice you’ve ever received?”
“Do you ever feel moved by art?”
“When was the last time you paddled in the sea?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Are tarot cards a load of nonsense?”
“What’s one thing you’re scared to do, but you know would be good for you?”

Anything but that.

ships to sea

She visited on a Sunday.

She went in, “Hello, it’s me here.”
But he barely opened his eyes.
Until he did.
And he asked for the time.

She was going to leave, but the nurses urged her to stay.
To talk to him.
So, of course, she did.
For ten minutes, whilst he slept.

The previous visit she’d taken him an old photo to look at.
There was a poem on the back.
She said it was about ships going out to sea.
She said it sounded like dying.

He’d asked her to put the photo at the end of the bed for him to see.

Sleep tight.

How did they meet?

I imagine they first properly met at the rugby club.
Dad would have just finished a game.
Mum would be behind the bar pulling pints.

They would have just smiled at each other and started a conversation.
Nothing complicated.
Straight forward, and easy.

Mum would have shone a brilliant smile.
Dad would have said something witty.

The smell of lager, and muddy rugby boots and stale smoke on old jackets.

Little Miss

Why is it always Mister Men and Little Miss?
Why little?

You
misled me, made me little miss
misery. I was
misguided and
mistook my
misfortune for good luck.

I was
miserable, under your tyranny of poorly disguised
misogyny.

I
misread the signs, and had the
misfortune to
misunderstand your indifference for love countless times.

And yet, your biggest
mistake, was to
misunderestimate
me?

Little Miss?

Lasts

There are some lasts we don’t remember.
They pass us by in their seeming insignificance.

The last time your dad made your lunch.
The last time your mum read you a bedtime story.
The last time you were tucked in goodnight.
The last time you were picked up at the school gates.

But there are some lasts we’ll never forget.
That last exam before graduating.
The last time you spoke to your gran on the phone.
That last goodbye at the airport.
The last time you squeezed their hand and they squeezed it back.

I don’t know which lasts are more important. The ones that slip past us, unnoticed, or the ones etched into our memories forever.

But, if you had known at the time, that those insignificant lasts would never happen again, would you have behaved differently? Hugged them for longer? Held onto the moment for just a fraction more? Said thank you, and I love you?